As the time for their departure, which had been delayed already much longer than the manager had anticipated, drew nearer, Yuki grew more depressed and restless, so that to the exaggerated fancy of the American woman she seemed to be fading away and entering into what she emphatically called “the last stages of consumption.”

She cornered the girl relentlessly, and finally wrung from her the whole pitiful, tragic story of her life. How homesick and weary she had been ever since she had left Japan, how her heart seemed to faint whenever she thought of that final interview with her brother, and of the immeasurable longing for the man she loved, and whom she had married “for jus’ liddle bid while.”

All the big, romantic heart of the American woman went out to her as she took her into her arms and mingled her own honest tears with Yuki’s.

“You sha’n’t go to America,” she said, drying her eyes with a tiny piece of lace which served as a handkerchief. “You are going right back to Japan, bag and baggage of you. I’m going with you, to see you get there O.K.”

“Bud—” began Yuki, weakly.

“Never mind, now. I know he expects to sail in a week. I don’t. I’m boss! See!”